Page 26 of The Matchmaker's Melody
Taylor eyed him strangely. Was his dislike written so clearly on his face? “Not your favourite person?”
Gordon huffed. “I shouldn’t let it show. That doesn't reflect well on me. But… what do you know about him, anyway?” He turned to Randall, who probably knew the most about this newcomer to the choir.
Suddenly remembering the plate of treats on the table, Randall picked up one of his pastries and dropped it onto his plate. “I don’t know a whole lot, to be honest. He’s just in town for a few months, doing some sort of secondment at his company’s Toronto office. I don’t even know what he does. But he sings with a very good choir in Montreal, and I know the choir director there. Laurent and I are good friends, going back to university. When Laurent called to ask if there might be a spot for Jean-François here for the rest of the season, I saw no reason not to at least let him audition. And, as you’ve heard, he sings extremely well. I can’t fault his musicianship at all.”
“Hmmm.” Gordon had to agree, as much as it galled him. The man did have a fine voice.
“More tea?” Taylor asked. “He’s friendly enough. Always says a cheery ‘bonjour’ and ‘salut.’ But you’re right. It’s a bit like he’s playing himself on stage.”
“He does seem very friendly with Emma,” Randall added. “You two are friends. Why don’t you ask her.”
And that was the rest of Gordon’s dissatisfaction with the whole mess.
Despite this new, deepening friendship between Gordon and Emma, she had not said a word to him about Jean-François. True, he hadn’t asked, but he was not blind. After rehearsal each week, everyone knew that they went to the pub to ‘talk about music’. And everyone knew that the music lay untouched on the table between them as they laughed and flirted until the pub closed. Everyone noticed the not-so-secret smiles and glances during rehearsals. On those nights when Gordon watered his parents’ plants and Emma wasn’t home, he was certain she was out with Jean-François. The only reason she kept her weekends open for him, Gordon, was because Jean-François often went back to Montreal. To do… whatever it was that he did there, breathing not a word of it to anyone.
Fine, it was none of his business. He knew that. He didn’t set up a calendar for everyone in the choir to see what his personal life was like. Gordon sighed. But you’d think that Jean-François would make some comment about his best friend or his sister or the Habs, the nickname for Montreal’s beloved hockey team, at the very least. But no, nothing. Not a word.
Gordon knew he was just looking for nits to pick. Because he wanted more reasons not to like the Montrealer.
He tried not to be jealous. It was clear Emma and Jean-François had something going on, and she was happy. And if Emma was happy, Gordon was happy for her. He cared too deeply to ruin her life by disparaging the man she was dating. And how could he even think of throwing himself, so unwanted, at her feet, begging her to give him a chance.
That would just destroy this friendship that meant more and more to him every day. This friendship that was too precious to lose.
And so, he gritted his teeth and promised himself to smile when Jean-François was in the room, especially if the man would let the choir keep rehearsing in the event that they couldn’t keep using the arts centre.
“Yeah,” he sighed, bringing his attention back to his friends and the tray of disappearing treats in front of him.
“I’ll ask Emma. She knows everything.”
Except that he loved her.
CHAPTER14
QUARTET
Rehearsalsfor the Mozart mass were now underway in earnest. It was a good thing, Emma reflected, that Elise hadn’t been singing the alto solos for rehearsals, because she had stopped coming to practices. It was frustrating; Emma had thought her more committed to the choir than this, but there were enough other strong singers in the alto section that she wasn’t missed. Much.
Still, Emma would have preferred working with Elise than Ashleigh.
It’s not that she could find any fault with Ash. She was always on time. She knew her music, she was polite and considerate, and had good ideas. And she did sing well. Perhaps a bit too well, if Emma had to be honest with herself. Emma had a lovely clear and bright soprano voice, and she had put in a lot of effort to develop it and refine it, first in the school choir, and then, with a private teacher while she was doing her degree at university. Her teacher was an opera and concert soloist who had studied with some of the best teachers around, and Emma had learned a great deal from her.
And she had practised and worked hard, and sang well. Very well. But not as well as Ashleigh.
Ashleigh’s voice had that extra quality, that depth and richness, that Emma could never achieve. This was the curse of singers. Violinists and other instrumental musicians could, if necessary, buy better instruments with better sounds. They could trade up. Not so with singers. Singers could work to train their voices, but ultimately, they had what they had. There were no upgrades. And Ash had a better instrument.
But where Emma would always triumph over Ash was in her ability to perform.
Emma loved the spotlight. She knew her worth, and she knew how to present herself to the best possible advantage. If that meant singing like an angel at rehearsal, she could do that. If it meant wowing audiences with a short solo or two in a concert, she could do that, too.
Ashleigh, for all her natural gifts, was just too shy and reserved to ever be a first-rate performer. You had to open your heart as much as your mouth to sing effectively. Ash just kept too much inside. And that, in Emma’s books, was perfectly fine, since it let Emma shine like the star she was.
Still, she was an excellent choice for the alto passages in rehearsal, since she had the range and deeper timbre that worked well with the music. And as much as Emma would rather work with someone else, she couldn’t think of a single reason to say it out loud.
The quartet of rehearsal soloists met just a couple of times to go over their parts. There were several passages in the mass that involved only the soloists and orchestra, and there was no need to go over those. But there were others where the solo voices and choir interacted, quickly alternating sections of solo and chorus, with a corresponding change in tempo and metre, and those had to be rehearsed. And the four rehearsal soloists needed to stand in perfectly for the professionals who would sing for the performance.
For their first rehearsal as a quartet, they met at Victor’s house. He lived in one of the 1960s-built suburbs north of the 401, the massive highway that crossed the city from east to west, and there was plenty of room in his living room for the group.
He also had a rather nice, upright grand piano. His wife played, he explained, and his kids were both taking lessons. Consequently, he kept the instrument in good condition and in tune. For this practice, he had asked Gordon if he was free, and Gordon had agreed.
